


Come One, Come All

by freudensteins_monster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Carnival, Depression, Dust Bowl, F/M, Gen, Great Depression, M/M, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, fic idea, incomplete fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 08:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13677873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freudensteins_monster/pseuds/freudensteins_monster
Summary: A few scenes from an incomplete fic. Aesthetic heavily influenced by tv show "Carnivale".The last few months of Bucky's life have been one devastating blow after the other. Work is hard to find at the best of times, let alone when you're missing an arm, and just when things seem their darkest the carnival rolls into town...





	Come One, Come All

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my FIC IDEAS I'LL NEVER FINISH collection. A couple of scenes from an idea I had months ago and haven't worked on since that first burst of inspiration.

In September of 1929 James “Bucky” Barnes fell off a building scaffold in Indianapolis, immediately followed by a steel girder. The day he was finally released from the hospital the stock market crashed and he returned to his hometown of Shelbyville, one arm shorter, just in time to see a foreclosure sign being hammered into the ground outside his father’s farm. The loss crushed his old man and come New Year’s Day George Barnes was found dead in a slurry-filled ditch, still clutching the bottle of moonshine he no doubt thought would keep him warm.

His little sister Becca stuck it out until Bucky’s 26th birthday before hightailing it out west with her new husband. She had hugged him tightly, trying so hard not to pay any mind to the pinned sleeve where his left arm used to be, and tearfully begged him to come with her. As much as Bucky wanted to, and as much as he had nothing keeping him in Shelbyville, he also didn’t have a dollar to his name, and he wasn’t about to ask for that sort of charity from his new brother-in-law, even if the tight bastard had been the one to offer it. So Bucky  hugged his only remaining family goodbye at the bus stop and promised he’d write, waiting until the silver greyhound was nothing more than a speck of glitter the horizon before wandering back into town.

He’d been renting a small room from old Mrs Hollis and paid his way by doing odd chores and whatever yard work he was capable of for her and some of his mother’s old friends, women who’d lost their husbands in the Great War and whose sons had long since moved away. They doted on ‘that poor Barnes boy,’ which irked him something awful, but they paid him in nickels and hot meals so he kept his mouth shut and smiled.

He came back to his rented room a few weeks later after a long day chopping wood for Mrs Fairfield to find a letter from Becca waiting for him on his bed. They’d arrived in California safe and sound and were renting an apartment in Sacramento. She was going to start work at a local hospital the following week and her husband had gotten a job at a grocery store until he began teaching in the new school year. She sounded happy, so goddamn happy it made Bucky sick. The feeling only intensified when she ended her letter with another plea for him to come join her out west.

He could sleep on their couch and eat scraps from their table, like a stray dog, he mused bitterly as he tossed the letter aside. He shucked off his sweaty work clothes, cleaned himself off with a rag and a bowl of water, and got ready for dinner with Mrs Hollis. It was a mind-numbing affair, as it was most nights, with Mrs Hollis and her other boarder, a middle-aged spinster by the name of Ms Wickham, spending the entire meal gossiping about their neighbours. Bucky helped clear the table and insisted on doing the dishes to spare himself the agony of joining them in the sitting room for a cup of tea and even more gossip.

Returning to his room he folded up Becca’s letter and tucked it away in a small lock box that held a few family photos and his father’s service pistol. His mind had wandered to the cold steel more than once since he’d returned home, torn between selling it and using it. He pushed such thoughts aside and folded Becca’s letter around the photograph of his mother, kissing them both, and slid the box back under his bed.

The next day the carnival rolled into town.

** *** **

“Want to know your future, stranger?” a feminine voice with an accent similar to the blonde prick from Sideshow Alley calls out to him. She’s standing in the doorway of her trailer shuffling a deck of cards, the sides are painted blood red and the words “The Scarlet Witch” are written across it in beautiful black calligraphy.

“Not sure you’ll see much there,” Bucky replies glumly.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she smiles cryptically. “Why don’t you go see the boss man,” she adds, tilting her head towards the big top. “He might be able to help you find your way.”

Confused but with nothing to lose, Bucky follows her instructions, walking until he finds a tent full of performers and carnival workers sitting down for dinner. He sees the ringmaster, a guy in a red coat with gold trim and an overly complicated facial hair style sitting on a table holding court, talking a mile a minute and gesturing wildly. His eyes move off of him to an older man sitting off to the side watching the proceedings, a small smile playing on his lips as he sips his coffee. Bucky makes his way over to him.

“Are you in charge around here?” Bucky blurts out in lieu of a greeting, startling the man out of his quiet contemplation.

“The ringmaster’s over there bestowing the virtues of modern technology,” he smiles, pointing in Tony’s direction.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I suppose it isn’t,” he smirks, getting to his feet. “Phil Coulson, owner and operator of Marvel Bros Carnival.”

“James Barnes.”

“What can I do you for, Mr Barnes?”

“Um… You know what?” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not entirely sure. The, uh, ‘Scarlet Witch’ pointed me in your direction, and I kind of just did what she told me to. Not sure why…” he murmured.

“She has that effect on people,” Phil smirks. “You looking for work?”

“Yes,” Bucky replies automatically, not realising how true it is until the words are out of his mouth. Yes, he’s looking for a job, a proper job, not pity from old ladies. He wants to feel useful and productive and part of a team again. He wants to feel human and whole again. “Yes, I’m looking for a job,” he repeats firmly.

“Well, I’ll be honest, we’ve been a man short since Pittsburg, but I can’t help but notice you’re at a slight disadvantage for most of the work that needs doing,” he adds, his eyes flitting over the space where Bucky’s left arm should be.

“I’m a hard worker,” he swears. “And I’m strong - ain’t been sick a day in my life until this happened. And I’ll work at whatever job you give me until I’m better and faster at it than any of the other mooks you got running around here.”

“Careful now,” Phil teases. “I consider some of those mooks family. Speaking of family,” he says, turning back to knock on the door of a blue trailer with an eagle design painted on it. The door swings opens and a Chinese woman stands in the doorway wearing[ dark high waisted trousers, a red top](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.shopify.com%2Fs%2Ffiles%2F1%2F1126%2F3496%2Fproducts%2FSailor_Pants_Denim_Green_of_Grey.com_05.jpg%3Fv%3D1463861140&t=NDgxNTk4MTlhNzFlY2IwMjZiOWQ4NjIxZDVlODk1Njk3MTdjZTEzOSxTelNsNXpDOQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A2OWWx2kDS5Blao1G68H3pQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Ffreudensteins-monster.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170867209201%2Ffics-ill-never-finish-come-one-come-all-a&m=1), and an expression so stern in takes Bucky back to fourth grade and his numerous detentions with crotchety old Mrs Buxton.

“Who’s this?” she demanded in a sharp voice with no hint of an accent.

“Sweetheart, this is Mr Barnes. He’s looking for work. Mr Barnes, this is my wife, Melinda May,” he says, the pair of them watching him closely for an adverse reaction.

“Is that going to be a problem for you?” Melinda challenges, and Bucky gets the impression, even if he still had both his arms, he wouldn’t be able to best her in a fight.

“No ma’am,” Bucky replies.

“Good,” Phil continues, gesturing to the eclectic group of people gathered under the tent with his tin cup. “Because we’ve got people of all colours and creeds travelling with us, and we do consider them family, so if you don’t think you can work alongside them or more to the point, take orders from them, you best be on your way and not waste any more of my time.”

Bucky regards Coulson anew. He seems quiet and laid back, but there’s a strength there, hidden behind the genial nature, that he can’t help but respect.

“I don’t have a problem with that. And as long as they don’t have a problem with me,” he adds, gesturing to his pinned sleeve.

“No one will give you shit about your arm,” Melinda swears. The words ‘they’d better not’ go unsaid.

“Except maybe Stark and Hunter,” Phil apologises with a small wince.

“But they’re assholes,” Melinda concedes.

“Just try to take everything they say with a grain of salt, and maybe don’t punch Stark until after we pull up stumps, okay?”

“Does this mean I’m hired?”

“You got any experience?” Melinda asks before Phil can answer.

“At working a carnival? No ma’am, but like I was telling Mr Coulson I’m strong and I’ll work twice as hard as anyone else.”

“You’ll have to,” she replies pointedly.

Bucky grits his teeth. “And if you hire me I won’t go to the Sheriff and tell him about that blond asshole that was pickpocketing the good people of Shelbyville down by the shooting gallery.”

“What?” Melinda all but growls, her glare moving off of Bucky and seeking out a new target. “Maximoff!”

The blonde asshole in question looks up from the card game he and some of the other roustabouts were in the middle of, sees Melinda’s murderous expression, and bolts.

“Reyes!” she shouts and the Mexican kid who had been sitting next to Maximoff perks up. “Round up that little prick! I want him on my doorstep by lights out.”

“We run an honest carnival,” Phil tries to assure Bucky. “Pietro just has a few… compulsions which he finds difficult to keep in check. Even more so with Hunter encouraging his bad habits,” he sighs as his wife gets into it with a short scruffy guy Bucky assumes must be Hunter.

“Why keep ‘em on then?”

“It’s not really that complicated. Hunter’s married to Bobbi, one of our trapeze artists, and Pietro’s twin sister, Wanda, you met earlier. If we want to keep the money makers we have to put up with the troublemakers,” Phil shrugs.

“Is that you’re motto?” Bucky can’t help but tease.

“Some days it feels like it,” Phil smiles back. “So, about that job opening.” Bucky stands to attention, not missing the way Phil stares at him like he’s trying to judge his soul. It’s almost as unnerving as his wife’s glare. “Come back at sun up tomorrow. I’ll have you shadow one of our guys and you can get a feel for what working and travelling with us would be like, and if you decide it’s something you want you can head out with us the morning after.”

Bucky walks home in a giddy daze. He’s pretty sure he said thank you, and shook Phil’s hand, but everything else before he stepped over the threshold of Mrs Hollis’s place is a blur. He sticks his alarm clock between his knees and with a shaking hand sets it for an hour before sunrise. He’s a bundle of nerves, tossing and turning for most of the night, and swears he had just managed to drift off before his alarm sounded.

He dresses quickly and chews on an apple as he writes Mrs Hollis a note explaining his absence should any of his regular customers come seeking his help for the day. He lies and tells her he’s got a job trial that’ll take most of the day, followed by dinner with friends. He’s not prepared to tell her he’s looking to take up with a travelling carnival. In the early light of dawn it seems utterly ludicrous to even consider it, but such rational thoughts don’t stop him from rushing out the door.

He arrives at the carnival just as everyone seems to be rolling out of their beds, but Coulson meets him at the entrance and looks just as alert and put together as he did the night before. He leads him back over to the where they met and Bucky can’t help but smirk at the how subdued everyone is as they sip their first coffee of the day compared to the more jovial evening atmosphere. Most of the men look as though they’re already in their work clothes, or maybe they slept in them, but most of the women are just wandering around in their housecoats, no makeup on and their hair still in rollers. The women in town would have clutched their pearls at the thought of appearing so unmade in mixed company, if they could afford pearls. The ringmaster, Stark, seems to be the exception, stumbling towards the coffee pot in not much more than[ a brown and gold silk robe](https://68.media.tumblr.com/b63650e0652904cdb1d978fe5e51e498/tumblr_nd8g9jBvot1rypla8o1_400.gif) he hasn’t bothered to tie up, rounded aviator sunglasses, and honest to God slippers. The women in town would have died of shock.

“Rhodey? Are you finished?” Phil asks and a middle-aged African American man who had been shaking his head at Stark’s lack of decorum stands to attention.

“Yeah, boss.”

“Excellent. James Barnes, I’d like you to meet James Rhodes, our chief roustabout. If you decide to work for us you’d be answering to him.”

“Bucky,” he amends, offering his hand to the other man without hesitation, knowing his every interaction with Phil’s ‘family’ is being analysed three ways to Sunday.

“Rhodey,” the other man smiles back as he shakes Bucky’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Look at that. You’ve already got so much in common,” Phil teases. “Rhodey, I want you to show Bucky the ropes, and don’t spare any of the less glamourous aspects – I don’t want him to be surprised after he’s signed on with us.”

They do circuits around the big top and Rhodey explains the day to day running of the carnival, from set up to pull down, what jobs roustabouts usually do, and if Rhodey has any opinions about Bucky’s limitations he keeps them to himself. Time passes quickly and before they know it paying customers are gathering at the entrance. Rhodey’s plans to have Bucky shadow him as his runs one of the games are derailed by the sound of a shrill voice cussing up a storm coming from the performers trailers.

“Goddammit Tony, what now?” Rhodey mutters to himself. “I gotta go handle this,” he apologises to Bucky as he storms towards the sounds of utter chaos. He looks around trying to find someone not as busy as he is and his sights lock on to a skinny little roustie dragging a bag of corn kernels to a food stall.

“Rogers!” Rhodey calls him over.

“Yeah, boss?”

“I gotta go deal with Tony. I need you to show Bucky around. Coulson’s thinking of hiring him and wants him to know what he’s in for.”

“C’mon, Rhodey…”

“Don’t even start with me, Rogers. What is your job?”

“To do what you tell me, when you tell me to do it,” Rogers recites back miserably.

“Exactly. And what I’m telling you to do right now is to show Barnes around, alright?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Thank you,” Rhodey sighs, patting Bucky on the back before running off to fight the next battle.

“Sorry about all this, I don’t mean to be a bother,” Bucky apologises quickly in an attempt to get on the guy’s good side.

“It’s no bother,” he huffs unconvincingly. “Steve Rogers.”

“Bucky Barnes. Please to meet you. So,” Bucky broached as he followed Steve back to the food stall. “How long have you been with the carnival?”

“I’m still the new guy; I only joined up when they passed through New York a few months back. Well, I was sort of kidnapped, actually,” he smiles at the memory.

“Kidnapped?” Bucky laughs.

“Yeah… It’s kind of a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Alright, so I was walking home after a few drinks when I hear a commotion down an alleyway…”

 

* * *

 

_Idea also featured Pepper (Tony’s long suffering wife + fire dancer?), Natasha (silk aerial show), Clint (trick shots, wheel of death), Sam (Bobbi’s trapeze partner), Darcy (burlesque), and additional rousties Mack, Elena, and Daisy (Coulson and May’s daughter). And I was just thinking that a circus needed clowns so… Luis and Scott? And Steve designing all the carnival’s posters and touching up the paint jobs on the rides/stalls on top of whatever manual labour he insists he’s capable of.  
_

_There’s a scene missing in between these two wherein Bucky arrives at the carnival and wanders around. He notices Pietro pick-pocketing someone while helping them set up at the shooting gallery. He makes Pietro a bet - if he can hit five out of five he gives the man back his wallet, if his misses he leaves him money on the table and walks away. Thanks to an obsession with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show + getting a BB gun for his 8th birthday he’s a crack shot.  
_

_Stark, aside from being ringmaster, would also create ‘mechanical marvels’ to put on display in one of the tents. He would make Bucky a variety of arms/attachments to help him with his work._

_One day Clint injures himself and can’t perform in that nights show. Pietro brings up the fact that Bucky’s a great shot and before he knows it he’s being shoved into some old military costume and handed a gun. By week’s end Stark’s developed a shiny new arm with a built in pistol._

_Main ship-wise I hadn’t made any solid plans though it would have been some combination of Bucky/Steve/Darcy._

_Title came to me today, and I figured if it was ever turned into an E rated fic it would just be the funniest thing ever. :P_


End file.
